


Since Can't Remember When

by miera



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 22:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19798798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miera/pseuds/miera
Summary: Major spoilers for "Avengers Endgame." Peggy's perspective on Steve's return.





	Since Can't Remember When

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this just after the movie came out but wanted to wait to post it. I know the ending is a bit abrupt, but I never got around to writing down the rest (yet?).

It's as she goes to apply her lipstick that Peggy hesitates one last time.

The lipstick is her favourite. Bought before the war and an expensive indulgence even then, but it matched the shade of her best evening dress so perfectly, she couldn't resist it. She has been saving it, using it sparingly as the years of war had dragged on, but tonight of all nights was the night for her best dress and best lipstick and her surviving pair of nylons.

_This is foolish._

Here she is, getting dolled up and showing up for a date that she already knows isn't going to happen. She's going to waste some of her precious lipstick and risk her nylons and more than likely have to fend off men she has no interest in to go on one-half of a date. It was a sentimental notion. It would, after all, be much less work to stay in her tiny flat, make a cup of tea and have a good cry here, in the quiet privacy where she's spent most of the day. 

She stares at her reflection. Her skin is too pale and there are terrible shadows under her eyes regardless of her precious stash of cosmetics. Her eyes have been red each morning of this eternal week. During the days she has focused on helping the Colonel with reorganizing the SSR's resources. The Howling Commandos are at the front as the Allies cross into Germany. The rest of the SSR was being retasked to do whatever they could to bring about the end of the fighting. The war wasn't over; she was damn sure not going to let Steve's sacrifice be in vain. 

Howard had somehow commandeered a ship and was searching for wreckage from the Valkyrie. Even though by now they all know there is no hope, except to locate his body.

A tremor goes through her. 

She could stop. She could stay home. Nobody had heard the conversation between them. No one would know if she simply flings herself into bed and cries until she can't breathe.

She leans forward and applies her lipstick with a careful hand. She knows that Steve is dead and that she is going to spend her Saturday night doing something illogical. But deep in her soul, Peggy knows that she will regret it if she doesn't go to the club tonight. 

The certainty fortifies her steps, down to the street, into the taxi and then through the doors of the Stork Club. She settles at the bar, a glass of wine at hand, and concentrates on honoring Steve's memory. She watches other people mingle and flirt and dance around her, couples arm in arm and men flirting with the few women in the room as the band gamely plays as if the war outside was far away. That this was all happening was due to Steve. Millions of people in the States, including his beloved Brooklyn, are living their lives right now because of him. 

As it nears 8 o'clock, she recklessly indulges her imagination, how she would feel if she knew he was coming, waiting for him to appear through the crowd, hoping he liked her in this color and that her make-up was still intact, then seeing her own nervousness reflected back on his face.

The face she'll never see again. 

All week, Peggy has spoken matter-of-factly about Steve's death but only now, waiting in her best dress for a man who is gone forever, does the truth of it pierce all the way through her heart. Steve isn't coming. 

Grief floods through her and she knows she needs to leave. Margaret Carter, SSR Agent, does not make a spectacle of herself in public. Not unless there is a need to do so in service of a mission. Like putting on her best dress for an undercover meeting but purposely stopping by the pub to let Steve see her in it-

Tears well up in her eyes. Oh this was a stupid, stupid thing to do.

Peggy grabs for her purse and stands on wobbly legs, heading blindly for the door so fast she crashes into someone in her haste. Hands come to her elbows to steady her. "Peggy?"

The voice of the man she ran into is high and uncertain and she braces herself, not able to make small talk with someone she knows when she is so close to falling completely apart. But when she looks up her entire body freezes.

"Steve?"

His eyes are searching her face, still the same beautiful blue they always were, and filling with tears as he gazes at her. But it can't be. Is she dreaming? Drunk? Cracking up at long last?

" _Peggy_." There is a rawness to his voice that echoes her own swirling emotions. "It's me."

Her hands reach out and grasp his suit jacket, feeling the solid warmth of his body underneath. "Are you really here?"

"I'm real. I'm here." 

She lifts one hand and touches his jaw, feeling the prickle of his stubble against her skin. Her tears overflow and she blinks furiously, needing her eyes clear so she can see that he truly is here. "Steve."

She flings her arms around his shoulders and his arms wrap around her waist, hauling her up off her feet and into his embrace and she couldn't care less if the entire damn club is watching because Steve is alive. 

His cheek presses against hers, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry I'm late." 

"You're not-"

"I _am_ , Peggy. You don't know…" She feels him shake his head. "Never mind. I'm here now." 

She has no idea how long they stand there, clinging to each other, until she returns to her senses enough to draw back and look up at him. His hands cup her face gently and his thumbs brush the tears from her cheeks. His eyes catch hold of hers and a second later he leans down and kisses her, there before God and everybody, and she kisses him back with equal fervor.

The wolf whistles from some of the other patrons break them both out of the kiss. People are staring at them curiously and in unison they both move away, trying to get to a more private corner. Peggy doesn't want anyone to recognize him and interrupt. She wants him all to herself right now.

But the questions are starting to pile up in her head. "Steve, where have you been? How did you get back? When?"

His lips lift in a small smile, one she doesn't remember seeing before. He squeezes her hands and glances over at the band. "I'll tell you all about it, I promise, but can we just… can we just have our dance now?" His tone is pleading and she yields instantly, because he's right. He's here and alive. Explanations can wait.

And the band has started a suitably slow song. 

Etiquette be damned, she leads him out onto the dance floor, beaming up at him as she positions his arms around her and then takes hold of his hand. Steve smiles back, holding her firmly, following her lead as she sways gently back and forth. This isn't the moment for steps. She just wants to hold him and be held by him. 

It takes only a few bars before she gives in to impulse and leans her head against his chest. Steve's chin rests against her head and she feels his breath against her skin as the singer starts.

_"Kiss me once and kiss me twice and kiss me once again,_  
_It's been a long, long time._  
_Haven't felt like this my dear since can't remember when,_  
_It's been a long, long time._  
_You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you,_  
_Or just how empty they all seemed without out you._  
_So kiss me once and kiss me twice and kiss me once again,_  
_It's been a long, long time."_  


*~*~*~*~*

There is a sureness to Steve as he walks her home that seems odd for a man who just narrowly escaped death, although perhaps that is the reason for the change. 

She reaches up and plays with the lapel of his jacket. It is easier in the darkness to be truthful. "I'm afraid this is dream. I'm afraid I'll wake up tomorrow alone." 

His hand wraps around hers. "I could stay," he offers, then rushes to expand. "To sleep, I mean." Even in the low light she can see his ears turning red and his bashfulness is so familiar, so endearing, she can't help but agree.

They slip up the stairs, avoiding her landlady who would react poorly to finding a man up in her well-run house of single girls. 

Steve removes his jacket and sinks onto the couch, scrubbing tiredly at his face. Peggy studies him, her hands clasping her purse. She doesn't see any outward sign of injuries, but that doesn't mean much with his metabolism. He crashed an experimental war plane into the ocean. Even Steve wouldn't escape that unscathed. 

She doesn't ask about that, though, not yet. His expression is both tired and anxious and she wants to soothe him in some way. When Steve looks at her, his eyes roaming over her body quickly before coming to her face, and he raises his eyebrows, she gestures with her purse. "I didn't consider what it would mean for someone of your height to try to sleep on that sofa." 

He laughs, genuinely, then shakes his head. "I've slept in worse places." 

His expression becomes distant and the ground seems to be shifting so quickly Peggy finds herself fidgeting, something she has never done around him before. The shock of his appearance comes back and she wants to grab on to him to convince herself that this is not some delusion her mind has conjured. "I suppose I should put the kettle on-"

"Peggy," he interrupts gently. His hand reaches for her. "Just… come sit with me?" 

That accords with her wishes perfectly. She puts her purse down and steps out of her shoes, making Steve smile, before she sits down next to him. Steve's arm wraps around her, tucking her against his side. "Is this okay?" he asks. 

Her arm snakes behind his back, her other arm wrapping around his waist. Her head settles onto his shoulder like it belongs there and she grabs on to him tight enough to hurt a normal man. "This is perfect." 

She can feel his smile and his arms wrap around her in turn, squeezing her as tightly as she is him. "Tell me if I start hurting you," he says in a low voice.

"I don't care," she responds immediately, snuggling even closer. It's only after the words are out that she considers another possible interpretation and her cheeks flame with heat at the thought of Steve leaving bruises on her skin. 

Steve huffs out what she thinks is a laugh, his breath stirring her hair, but he doesn't say anything else. Time ticks by unmarked as they just sit, holding on to each other. She can feel his heartbeat as it settles. Each breath brings his scent into her lungs and she doesn't realize she is crying until she has to gasp for air. 

A broad, warm palm rubs up and down her back and something hot and wet touches her forehead. Steve is crying too. 

Something trembles at the edges of her mind, an awareness that there is some larger story behind his appearance tonight, which she cannot explain logically. She wants to know, of course. Curiosity has gotten her into all kinds of trouble in her life and she still hasn't been cured of it. But right now only one thing matters. "Steve?" Her voice breaks and she doesn't look up at him, but she feels his fingers brush against her hair. 

"Yeah?" his voice is as rough as hers. 

"If I should fall asleep, you'll still be here in the morning?"

"I will. I promise."


End file.
